Vaslav Nijinsky

The dancer and choreographer Vaslav Nijinsky was one of the most celebrated, brilliant and mad artists of the 20th century. He seemed to confirm the link that many believe exists between madness and artistry because both involve a certain unhinging of one's imagination from immediate reality.

One hundred years ago, on May 19, 1909, Serge Diaghilev's Ballets Russes debuted in France and redefined dance for the 20th century. Toiling for le tout Paris in front of the hot footlights of the Theatre du Chatelet were ballet superstars Vaslav Nijinsky and Anna Pavlova -- artists whose names resonate around the world. Among this galaxy of luminaries, however, only one was destined to achieve his fame in Los Angeles, where today he is all but unknown.

Rehearsals are under way in Iowa City, Iowa, for a new production--utilizing the original "lost" choreography by Vaslav Nijinsky--of Stravinsky's 1913 ballet "Le Sacre du Printemps." Millicent Hodson is overseeing the reconstruction of Nijinsky's staging, which was performed only a few times after its premiere on May 29, 1913, and was eventually replaced by the 1920 version by Leonid Massine (and numerous others).

In life, Sergei Diaghilev and Romola de Pulszky both loved the great virtuoso dancer Vaslav Nijinsky and thought they'd won him. But Diaghilev lost him to Pulszky, who married Nijinsky in 1913, and she, in turn, lost him to mental illness only six years later. These events formed the narrative spine of "Nijinsky," a two-act dance drama performed by the Hamburg Ballet at the Orange County Performing Arts Center earlier this month.

I was frankly puzzled to see a recent book of mine, "Vaslav Nijinsky: A Leap Into Madness," described (by reviewer Alex Raksin, March 3) as "psychobiography." Nowhere in the text or on the dust jacket is this term used. The work is a straightforward biography, based on documents and eye-witness reports. Its purpose, as the preface makes clear, is to explore "the origins, manifestations, and treatment of Vaslav Nijinsky's madness." I was happy to read that the reviewer felt "moved" by my descriptions of the great dancer's mental illness.

VASLAV NIJINSKY: A Leap Into Madness by Peter Ostwald (Lyle Stuart: $19.95; 358 pp.). In the late 1970s, psychobiography's "science of personality" promised to demystify the great figures of history (and thus history itself) far more effectively than traditional "literary" biography.

In life, Sergei Diaghilev and Romola de Pulszky both loved the great virtuoso dancer Vaslav Nijinsky and thought they'd won him. But Diaghilev lost him to Pulszky, who married Nijinsky in 1913, and she, in turn, lost him to mental illness only six years later. These events formed the narrative spine of "Nijinsky," a two-act dance drama performed by the Hamburg Ballet at the Orange County Performing Arts Center earlier this month.

S tay on the grass. That was the mandate at Sunday's tea at the immense Italian villa in South Laguna Beach that belongs to Severin Wunderman, founder of the Severin Wunderman Museum in Irvine. Guests could sip water under the rose-smothered gazebo, on a patio perched above the roaring sea, but tours of the $10-million Mediterranean digs were forbidden. In fact, if guests even came close to a stairway leading to Wunderman's front door, security guards shooed them away. "What?

Although he gave his last performance in 1917, and no known film exists of his dancing, Vaslav Nijinsky remains an endlessly fascinating symbol of the 20th century artist as genius, celebrity, sexual outlaw and madman. Born in Kiev of Polish parents in 1890, he danced for only a decade and spent more than half his life in a mental asylum before he died in London in 1950.

When mental illness began to bring a premature end to Vaslav Nijinsky's career early this century, the renowned ballet dancer turned to visual art for self-expression. Unfortunately, until recently his works were dismissed as the idle, worthless doodlings of a madman. "The drawings are psychopathic charts," wrote American painter Marsden Hartley in the early 1940s, "and that is all that can be said of them."

Last summer and fall, local audiences saw four ballets that Vaslav Nijinsky either choreographed or originally danced. But the Ballets Russes legend himself spent just one week in Los Angeles, in December 1916 while on a U.S. tour. Charlie Chaplin saw him perform at least twice at Clune's Auditorium and visited him backstage between acts.

Although he gave his last performance in 1917, and no known film exists of his dancing, Vaslav Nijinsky remains an endlessly fascinating symbol of the 20th century artist as genius, celebrity, sexual outlaw and madman. Born in Kiev of Polish parents in 1890, he danced for only a decade and spent more than half his life in a mental asylum before he died in London in 1950.

The dancer and choreographer Vaslav Nijinsky was one of the most celebrated, brilliant and mad artists of the 20th century. He seemed to confirm the link that many believe exists between madness and artistry because both involve a certain unhinging of one's imagination from immediate reality.

Eighty years ago, the great Polish-Ukrainian ballet star Vaslav Nijinsky gave his last public performance, already victimized by the mental illness that would consume him until his death in 1950. No films exist of his dancing, but his legendary blend of technique and sensuality left every male dancer after him in his shadow.

S tay on the grass. That was the mandate at Sunday's tea at the immense Italian villa in South Laguna Beach that belongs to Severin Wunderman, founder of the Severin Wunderman Museum in Irvine. Guests could sip water under the rose-smothered gazebo, on a patio perched above the roaring sea, but tours of the $10-million Mediterranean digs were forbidden. In fact, if guests even came close to a stairway leading to Wunderman's front door, security guards shooed them away. "What?

When mental illness began to bring a premature end to Vaslav Nijinsky's career early this century, the renowned ballet dancer turned to visual art for self-expression. Unfortunately, until recently his works were dismissed as the idle, worthless doodlings of a madman. "The drawings are psychopathic charts," wrote American painter Marsden Hartley in the early 1940s, "and that is all that can be said of them."

Eighty years ago, the great Polish-Ukrainian ballet star Vaslav Nijinsky gave his last public performance, already victimized by the mental illness that would consume him until his death in 1950. No films exist of his dancing, but his legendary blend of technique and sensuality left every male dancer after him in his shadow.

Next month, Joffrey Ballet dancer Charlene Gehm will be gliding assertively across the TV screen, her smart black dress and carefully coiffed hair blown by unseen wind machines in a designer perfume commercial. But at tonight's opening of the Joffrey's engagement at the Orange County Performing Arts Center, she will be a shy nymph in knee-length golden braids and sandals who trembles in the presence of a handsome and self-possessed young faun.

I was frankly puzzled to see a recent book of mine, "Vaslav Nijinsky: A Leap Into Madness," described (by reviewer Alex Raksin, March 3) as "psychobiography." Nowhere in the text or on the dust jacket is this term used. The work is a straightforward biography, based on documents and eye-witness reports. Its purpose, as the preface makes clear, is to explore "the origins, manifestations, and treatment of Vaslav Nijinsky's madness." I was happy to read that the reviewer felt "moved" by my descriptions of the great dancer's mental illness.

VASLAV NIJINSKY: A Leap Into Madness by Peter Ostwald (Lyle Stuart: $19.95; 358 pp.). In the late 1970s, psychobiography's "science of personality" promised to demystify the great figures of history (and thus history itself) far more effectively than traditional "literary" biography.